


caught in orbit

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Flirting, Insomnia, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8179693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: Keith never thought he could be homesick, since he never had much of a home to begin with.But Lance's laugh is loud and bright, skin tanned like he's been out in the sun all day, and Keith starts to wonder if he'll ever see that familiar star again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for katy! :')

Sleep never came all that easy to Keith on Earth.

As an orphan, he never had too many possessions of his own. But he still was a light sleeper, waking up at the smallest noises, wary of someone stealing what little he had. Joining the Garrison helped rid him of his material life, his material fears, but it also came with the anxiety of performing well, the stings and bites of other cadets when he performed _too_ well. 

So he left, seeking out a life to call his own again.

Becoming a part of Team Voltron almost gave him hope. With a clear mission to focus on, everything else about his life so far seemed trivial. But then the vast infinities of the universe start to wake him up in the middle of the night, wide and gaping and ready to swallow him whole. Out here, he’s just a spec of life, less than microscopic as he hurtles through space, fighting for hundreds of billions of lives that may never know him, never know his name—let alone what’ll remain of him if their mission is a failure.

It’s amazing, it’s terrifying, and for the first time in his life, he understands what homesickness is like.

Any uninterrupted stretch of sleep he manages to claim, no matter how pitifully short, is still a success for him. He tends to be the last to fall asleep and the first to wake up, wandering about the spaceship in the quieter hours of the night, trying to calm his mind in hopes of claiming a little more rest before the universe calls out for him again.

Sometimes he finds Shiro, and their nights are still and silent—there are things they know about each other that can’t always be discussed. Sometimes Pidge stays up late, distracted by the slow-unscrambling mystery that is Altean tech, and Keith finds it a little easier to relax, zoning out as Pidge relays a new discovery that he can’t quite understand. Meanwhile, Lance attaches himself to his bed as if it were a lover, and Hunk more or less does the same. Keith is half-convinced that if humans could hibernate, those two certainly would.

But Voltron is supposed to be a team, and Keith supposes he should bond with them—for the mission, and for company’s sake. Sometimes he finds Hunk in the kitchen, and they try to devise a midnight snack together. But Lance is still a rarity. 

Finding Lance awake at night as he does, then, in the hangar with his lion, is a surprise. Maybe not a pleasant one, considering how loud he can be, but a surprise nonetheless.

Lance’s head swivels towards Keith at the sound of the automatic doors opening. He’s kneeling by his lion’s front paw with a toolbox at his side, dressed in—well, he’s in plaid boxers, an expanse of his bare chest visible through his unzipped jacket. He scans Keith similarly, from shower-dampened hair to the towel around his neck, white t-shirt and spandex shorts that stop above his knee, a steaming mug in his hand. He opens his mouth, gaze lingering on Keith’s thighs for a second before flicking up to his face. Keith pretends not to notice.

“Hey, Keith! Didn’t expect to see you here.” His grin is barely more subdued than how it looks in the daylight hours. Keith raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” He steps inside, tossing a glance at his own lion, “Likewise.” 

The doors slide to a close, sealing them off from the brighter light of the hallway, and Keith’s bare feet smack against the floor as he approaches Lance. He sits cross-legged a little ways behind him, holding the mug in both hands, watching Lance use a screwdriver on one of the panels on his lion’s leg, and casts a look around at the blue sconces on the walls. They’re bright, but they’re sparse, casting shadows around the room.

“Do you, uh, want me to turn the lights on?”

“Nah, I’m good!” Lance is characteristically chipper, and Keith’s lips press together in a line, giving him a curt nod.

“Couldn’t sleep then, huh.”

“Kind of—it’s more like my lion was calling to me, I guess. So I got up and came down here, and there doesn’t seem to be anything all that wrong with her...I’m thinking she might’ve just wanted some company.” He smiles, affectionately scratching at his lion’s paw.

“Either way, there were some dings I wanted to fix up, so I figured I’d work on those while I was down here. Isn’t it funny how alien tech needs human maintenance like that? I mean, I guess we’re technically the aliens all the way out here in space, but...”

Keith exhales through his nose, corner of his mouth lifting as he looks at the scratched paint on his lion’s chest. “Maybe.”

“Does your lion ever do that? You know, talk to you?”

Keith pauses, looking at his lion’s darkened eyes. 

“Not...really. Not with a voice. Sometimes there are feelings I get, certain emotions that—” He stops himself short, letting out a small sigh, “Mostly, it’s just quiet.”

Lance opens his mouth, then lowers his eyes a second later—he may be impulsive and curious, but he knows when to hold back when he needs to.

“Gotcha.”

He drops the screwdriver back into the toolbox with a clunk, snapping the lid closed. Shelving it in a compartment in the wall, he heads back out to the middle of the hangar, plopping down next to Keith.

“That’s not coffee, is it?” He asks, craning his neck to look at the dark liquid in Keith’s mug, “Because if you’ve been hiding coffee from me,” He jabs a finger at Keith, “We’re going to need to have a little talk.”

“I wish it were coffee,” Keith scratches at the back of his head, breathing out a soft laugh, “Not that you ever seem to need any. Messed around in the kitchen the other day and Coran taught me how to make this kind of tea—it's not so bad.”

“Huh,” Lance raises his eyebrows, “Can I try it?”

Keith gives his head a small shake, offering the mug Lance’s way. His hands slide warm over Keith’s, tentatively glancing up as he eases the mug out of his hands. Keith’s eyes are shaded, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he looks down at their hands. Lance pulls his knees to his chest, letting the ceramic mug rest atop his kneecaps until he takes a sip. It's warm, and a little bitter like coffee, but more on the thinner side, with a fruity hint he can't quite name. 

“You're right, it's not bad,” Lance tells him, gripping the warmth of the mug for a second longer before handing it back to Keith, who accepts it graciously. “Wanna teach me how to make it?”

“Sure,” Keith shrugs, downing another gulp, “It’s not too complicated.”

“Coffee aside, we need to talk.” 

Lance, in middle of lowering himself to his elbows, sits back up. 

“Sure, what’s up?” 

Keith exhales a sharp sigh, staring down into his tea.

“You don’t… _hate_ me, do you?”

Lance raises an eyebrow, unable to keep himself from barking out a laugh. “No? Of course not? Where did that come from?”

“Well, you—” Keith bites his lip, “You said we were rivals. And there was that time when you got hurt, but you kept saying we never bonded, even though—”

“Keith,” Lance laughs again, softer, fonder this time, “I don’t hate you. It’s just, you can’t just hold someone once and claim you’ve bonded with them. We don’t really talk much. I can’t say I really know you.”

Keith nods a little. “We’re talking now.”

“True,” Lance concedes, “But only because you found me here. If you hadn’t, you gotta wonder—when would we ever end talking, you know?”

“You don’t really seek me out though, either.”

“You’re not wrong,” Lance admits with a small shrug of his shoulders, “It’s something we both need to work on.”

Keith nods, his gaze drifting up to the thin stripe of a skylight in the ceiling, stars around them shining both bright and distant. Lance looks up after him, and he shrugs off his jacket, balling it up so he can use it as a pillow.

“Sorry,” He apologizes with a waggle of his eyebrows, folding his arms behind his head as he lies back, catching Keith’s eye, “I usually wait to get naked until after the first date.”

“Lucky me,” Keith comments dryly, raising his eyebrow a fraction, “I was wondering when I'd get to see you naked.”

“ _Um_ ,” Lance sputters, his voice jumping half an octave higher, “Well, I mean, if you really wanted to—”

“Kidding,” snorts Keith, though he can still make out the colored tinge of Lance’s cheeks in the dark around them. Lance is scrawny and broad-shouldered, large hands at the end of skinny wrists, like a puppy that has yet to grow into his paws. Sure, he has his clumsy moments, but he holds himself with a sort of languid grace, evidenced in a little lean muscle on his stomach and chest. 

“Well,” Keith amends, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes, “Mostly kidding.”

Lance’s eyebrows furrow when he catches sight of the dark circles under Keith’s eyes. He bites his lip, though his expression softens as he moves, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Nevermind me, you look like the one who has trouble sleeping.”

“Wow,” Keith sighs, sarcastic, “I wonder what gave it away.”

“Well, the dark circles are one thing,” Lance sits up, laughing softly, “But angst is pretty much guaranteed with eyebrows like yours.”

“Eyebrows…?” Keith pauses, smoothing an eyebrow with his finger, “What’s wrong with my eyebrows?”

“I—nothing,” Lance scratches at his cheek, “Sorry. But, uh, if you’re ever feeling touch-starved and need someone to cuddle with, I’d be willing to fall on that mine for you.”

“Touch-starved? Where’d you get that line from?”

“It’s a real thing!” Lance insists, suddenly passionate, “I mean, at least I think it is. Like, if you don’t have enough human contact, you feel lonelier, it’s harder for you to sleep, stuff like that.”

“Huh,” Keith meets Lance’s eyes for a moment, his gaze later falling to his hands in his lap, “Sounds like it’s coming from personal experience.”

“Whoa, hey,” Lance rubs at his eyes, exhaling a small laugh, “I like to joke around, but that’s a pretty low blow.”

“Sorry,” Keith’s eyes flick back to Lance’s, apologetic smile at the corner of his mouth, “I was just trying to be honest.”

Keith lifts a hand, fingers trailing down Lance’s forearm, over his wrist, to twine with his fingers, long and bony. Lance’s hand is calloused and warm, and Keith gives it a small squeeze. Lance inhales, struggling to swallow the breath as Keith moves closer.

“Oh.”

Keith’s eyelids close as he leans in, nuzzling Lance’s cheek with his nose. His breath spills out hot over Lance’s skin, and a nervous tremor runs through his limbs for a moment, massaged out with another squeeze of his hand. Keith nuzzles and kisses at his cheek parts hesitant, parts deliberately slow, until he finally captures Lance’s lips, chapped and warm, meeting with a soft, muted smack. Lance waits a beat after Keith pulls away to chase after him, but it’s more of a fumbling step, their lips meeting in another small kiss, foreheads gently bumping together, a handful of Keith’s shirt in his grasp.

“If that’s what you wanted,” Keith whispers, a touch of urgency in his voice, “All you had to do was ask.”

“Yeah?” Lance breathes out a laugh, “Do you know how hard that is, when it comes someone like you?”

“Lance, I’m not that complicated.”

“Well. You’re unpredictable.”

“I’m—” Keith opens and closes his mouth, searching for the right word. “I do what my gut tells me to do.”

Lance’s grip on him slackens, gesturing at the lack of space between them, “This is what your gut told you to do?”

Keith tilts his head a fraction, eyes glinting as he smiles in the blue light.

“What’s it matter to you?”


End file.
